


Life in Pink

by bucknastybarnes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky - Freeform, Bucky Barne, Bucky Barnes Fluff, Bucky Barnes one-shot, Bucky Barnes oneshot, Bucky oneshot, Bucky x You - Freeform, F/M, James Barnes - Freeform, James Buchanan Barnes - Freeform, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, bucky barnes fanfiction, bucky barnes x you - Freeform, bucky fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 17:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucknastybarnes/pseuds/bucknastybarnes
Summary: inspired by the song "la vie en rose" by Daniela Andrade. fluffy, domestic Bucky.





	Life in Pink

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: language, mentions of pregnancy.  
follow me on tumblr: bucknasty-barnes

Hold me close and hold me fast

This magic spell you cast

This is La Vie En Rose

“Just five more minutes.” 

Words that you hear almost every morning— words that you could never reply no to. Words mumbled in a raspy, sleep-tinted voice as warm and masculine arms pull you close and wrap you tighter in ivory silk sheets. 

Plush lips that plant feather- light kisses along your clavicle and scruff of a fortnight’s old beard that nuzzles into the crook of your neck remind you that here with him, in this bed— this haven, this sanctuary, this home that you have built together— is where you’re meant to be. 

No, five more minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone, you supposed. 

When you kiss me heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see La Vie En Rose

You watched the sunrise from where you sat on the front porch swing— overlooking the foggy lake as hues of champagne gold and cotton candy pink danced across the reflection of the water. Oak and aspen trees had recently begun to shed their leaves in autumnal tones of amber and russet red that now littered the yard, glistening in the early morning dew from the night’s showers. The sight took you back to this time last year when Bucky had first brought you to this house that had since become a home. 

The promise of a surprise was the only thing that convinced you to leave the comfort of bed on the rainy, dreary fall day. 

Bucky denied every one of your pleas of “come on, honey, just one hint, you know how impatient I am-” claiming that even the slightest of clues would ruin whatever it was that awaited you. Even when you crawled across the front seat of the baby blue Chevy pickup that he had restored as a side project with Steve and asked so sweetly, kissing underneath his ear.  
An hour-long car ride later— spent blasting eighties music (which Bucky had found to be his favorite of the musical eras he had missed out on) and playing the grossest possible version of “would you rather?”— Bucky turns onto a dirt road in the middle of nowhere upstate New York. You throw him a questioning glare, but he only smirks in return. 

A light drizzle of rain escalates to a downpour within seconds- water so ferocious that the windshield wipers can’t keep the glass clear for even a second, and you wonder not only where you’re going, but how Bucky can drive there so confidently while barely being able to see the road in front of him. 

“Is the surprise that we are going to hydroplane and die? Because I think we’re going to hydroplane and die.” 

“Have more faith in me than that, baby,” he huffs a laugh and turns on his blinker. “Two more minutes, I promise.” 

The truck begins to slow as you come to a gravel driveway— through the monsoon cascading down the windshield, you can barely make out a body of water a hundred or so yards away, and the outline of a house. 

He puts the truck in park in front of the house, signaling the arrival to your destination. 

“You ready?” He turned to you, a mischievous smile growing on his face. 

“Where the hell are we?”

He ignores you-- instead hoping out of the truck, and into the downpour.

“Bucky, wait--” You follow him, wrapping the hood of your jean jacket snug around your face and dashing after him towards the house-- a cottage, you now see. A steep-pitched roof and stone siding overgrown with moss and vines. The front porch, which the two of you now stood under, provided adequate shelter from the weather despite the rickety columns that looked as if they were about to blow over. 

“Who lives here?” you ask, noticing that the windows were covered in cobwebs. All signs pointed to the house being vacant.

“Well, no one—” he turns the handle to the front door, revealing it to be unlocked— “no one yet.” He holds the door open, gesturing for you to enter before him. 

You step through the doorway, the floorboard creaking wildly. The thick, distinct stench of mold and mildew coats the air. To the right of the foyer is what looks like was once a kitchen; cabinets with broken doors and chipped yellow paint, a thin layer of dirt covering linoleum flooring. To the left, a living room— a brick fireplace and a TV with an antenna that you can’t help but think is as old as Bucky. 

“Yet?” 

You turned back to face where he remained in the doorway— metal hand shoved into a pocket, flesh hand stroking the scruff of his beard- a telltale sign of nervousness in him. 

”I- I was thinking that maybe-” his eyes shot around the room, glancing everywhere except your gaze- “we could live here.” 

“Here?” you repeated. 

“Yeah,” he breathed with a shaky laugh. “Look, I know it’s more than a fixer-upper, but it’s for sale real cheap, and I can do all the repairs myself. The roof, floors, cabinets— Steve and Sam will help out, I’ll make ‘em. It’s not much right now but I figured with some time and effort it could be..” he trailed off, still not meeting your eyes. 

“A home,” you finished for him. 

“Yeah,” he looked up, smiling shyly. “A home.” 

The earthy, bitter smell of coffee and the opening of the front door pulls you from your memories and back to reality. 

“Your daily allotment of caffeine, Mrs. Barnes.” He hands you the mug, sitting down beside you on the swing. A smile spread across his features that you knew well; a smile that was all teeth and dimples that was accompanied by the most adorable blush— a smile that always made an appearance whenever he called you by his last name. 

“There’s a lot of things I don’t enjoy about being pregnant,” you sigh, bringing a hand to your swollen belly. “But I must say that having to limit my caffeine intake is getting closer and closer to the top of the “this fucking sucks” list.” 

Bucky’s arm wraps around you, pulling you into his side. You instinctively relax your head against his shoulder and his free hand comes to rest on your bump. 

“I wish I could make it better for you, darlin’,” he murmurs as he kisses your forehead. “But it’ll all be worth it. She’ll be worth it.” 

When you press me to your heart

I'm in a world apart

A world where roses bloom

And when you speak angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La Vie En Rose

“Come on, Buck,” you plead. “She won’t be here for another month. Take a break and eat some lunch.”

“What if she comes early? She could come early. You’ve been having those— what are they? Brandon Kicks contractions? The crib needs to be finished before she gets here—” He flails his arms around, gesturing towards the various pieces of wood scattered across the nursery floor. 

“Braxton Hicks,” you try (and fail) to stifle a laugh. You waddled towards him, placing your hands on his biceps to stop the erratic movements. 

“It’s okay, honey,” you soothe him, rubbing his arms. “Everything is going to be peachy. You’ll finish the crib, we’ll paint the walls and baby proof everything—” You feel him relax beneath your fingers. “It’s all going to be perfect.” 

“How do you stay so calm?” he exhales, both of his hands coming to cradle your stomach. 

“Because I know I have you to take care of me,” you smile up at him. “To take care of us.” 

And when you speak angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La Vie En Rose

You wake to a cold bed-- cold, even for a December night. You reach beside you, searching for your personal heater, but the bed is empty.

“Buck?” you whisper, voice raspy with sleep. No answer. A pang of worry shoots through you, getting you out of bed.

A soft, orange glow trickles from the cracked door at the end of the hall, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Tiptoeing towards the nursery, you hear faint coos and a hushed tone.

“-- and I didn’t think I could ever love anything as much as I love your mama, but then you were born and oh man, I was a goner the second I laid eyes on you,” he crooned. 

You peer around the door, and your heart swells. A sight you’d never tire of. 

Bucky cradled your daughter to his chest, her tiny hand wrapped around a single metal finger as he swayed slowly in the rocking chair.

“Having a party without me?” you whisper from the doorway, Bucky’s eyes shooting up to meet yours.

“Hey, doll,” he greets you quietly, slowly rising with your daughter tucked in his embrace. “I heard her crying and I didn’t wanna wake you.” He walks over to the crib, carefully laying her down as though she were made of glass. 

“Just got her to fall back to sleep.” He turned to you, holding out his arms. 

You walked into his hug, sighing against his chest. “Tell her a bedtime story?” 

“Hmm,” he hummed. “More like told her how much I love her, like I do every night,” he shrugged. “She got bored, fell asleep pretty quickly.” 

You half giggle, half yawn into the fabric of his sweater. “How about you take me to bed and put me back to sleep by telling me how much you love me?” you tease.

He lifts you with ease- arms caressing you bridal style as he pecks you on the nose. “Always, baby.” 

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La Vie En Rose


End file.
